


Sweet

by Beth Harker (Beth_Harker)



Category: Newsies (1992)
Genre: Canon Era, Gen, Post canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-25
Updated: 2015-08-25
Packaged: 2019-09-29 21:14:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17211077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beth_Harker/pseuds/Beth%20Harker
Summary: Swifty steals a watermelon, and Snitch tries make sense of where he stands in the aftermath of the newsies’ strike.





	Sweet

Four days after the newsboys’ strike ended, Swifty came bursting into the lodging house dormitory with a great bulge threatening to burst the buttons off of his shirt. His arms were wrapped around it, and he was panting as he walked, pinker and sweatier than even a hot summer evening warranted.

“I’m knocked up,” he announced, with a dramatic hobble towards the nearest bed, which just happened to be Dutchy’s. He sat down so heavily that the mattress creaked, and Dutchy woke from his nap to ask who had knocked him up, and if they ought to soak the bastard.

“It ain’t that kind of knocked up,” Swifty explained. “I’m with child, see, and about to lay a big green egg to prove it.”

This got Swifty more attention than his entrance had. He was always pulling strange tricks, and the fellas were used to that by now, but pregnancy was a topic of great interest. Blink peered down from his bunk at him, and Jack slowly lowered his book. Tumbler, who had been eating an apple, stopped mid-bite, and sat there with his mouth agape and filled with half chewed food; Skittery looked from Tumbler to Swifty, made a half-hearted attempt to cover the child’s ears with his hands, and gave up as soon as Tumbler squirmed away.

Snitch winced. This was going to be bad, and he knew it. Probably Swifty had gone and done something terrible, and now he was going to get stuck telling Kloppman on him again , and then all the other boys were going to be mad at him.

“What’re you gonna name your baby?” Mush asked.

“How’d you get a baby in you?” Asked Tumbler.

Snitch stared up at the ceiling, wishing he was somewhere else. Things had been so good since the strike, so good. Nobody had been mad at Snitch once. It had been like putting away their differences almost, becoming friends, becoming a family. It wasn’t fair that he was always the one who had to speak up.

“You shouldn’t swipe peoples’ babies,” Snitch said weakly. “It ain’t right, and you know it, and it’s liable to choke if you stick it under your clothes like that.”

Swifty flashed him a white-toothed grin. “You’re right, Snitch.”

“I’m r—”

“Couldn’t be righter! I shouldn’t swipe babies, and I promise never to do it. Now come on down here and see what I got.”

Snitch didn’t climb down from his bed, but he moved closer to the edge, and swung his legs over it.

Swifty groaned, and flopped backwards into Dutchy. “I’m besetted with birthing pains,” he moaned. If Dutchy looked confused, it was only for a moment, before he took up the task of pretending to fan him.

“Somebody get a cold compress for his head,” Dutchy commanded. “I’m the midwife here, and you all better listen to me.”

“Otherwise he’ll use his authority as midwife to clobber you numbskulls across the head with a frying pan,” said Specs. When nobody leapt up to get the cold compress, Specs ran into the bathrooms to do it himself, coming back with a wet towel, which he lay lovingly across Swifty’s head. At that moment a large green shape came rolling out from under Swifty’s shirt, and went smashing to the floor in a burst of red.   
Tumbler screamed. Snitch covered his mouth with his hand. Jack let out a delighted laugh.

“Thanks Specs,” said Swifty. He knelt down next to the mess on the floor, scooped out a chunk with his finger, and popped it in his mouth. “That cold compress loosened everything up real nice. You too Dutchy. You’re a first rate midwife, and I owe my life to you.”

Tumbler was the first to run up next to Swifty. “What is it,” he asked. “Can I have some?”

“Fresh watermelon, finest to be had, and we’re all gonna have some.”

Already Swifty was separating out chunks of the watermelon, and handing them around the lodging house. Snitch was the sixth boy that Swifty handed it too, and he looked down at it in surprise. In the midst of all the excitement, Snitch had forgotten to scold Swifty for stealing the thing, and Swifty had forgotten to threaten to close him up in one of the lodging house lockers if he so much as thought about telling Kloppman.

“Never seen a watermelon before?” Swifty teased.

“Never up close,” Snitch admitted, then swallowed hard, because that certainly hadn’t sounded like a condemnation of Swifty’s thieving ways. Swifty didn’t wait for him to do it, either; he moved right along, passing out his bounty until each and every boy had a piece.

It took Itey nudging Snitch in the shoulder to get him to look back down at the cool chunk of watermelon dripping in his hands.

“Eat,” Itey told him. “Is good.”

Everybody else in the room was eating, Snitch realized. Nobody had asked Swifty if he’d stolen it. Maybe he hadn’t. Maybe the strike really had changed everything, and none of them were going to resort to lies and sin when they needed something, but instead band together to fight good and honest fights.

Maybe, but not likely.

Even so, Snitch took a cautious bite of the watermelon, which he’d gotten honestly in any case, and God did not strike him down. There was a lump in his throat, but the fruit tasted sweet.


End file.
